


Blood, sweat and tears (But mostly blood. And embarrassment)

by chronosaurus (kimnamjin)



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Chan is Tiredt, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Multi, This is pure crack, Warning- relatively graphic description of minho accidentally cutting himself, and it's not violence since minho is just a clutz and did it by accident, but i didn't want to use the graphic descriptions of violence tag bc it's not too graphic rlly, crack and humor, fainting from the sight of blood-au, lee minho: professional chaos babey, minho is fine tho he's just a dummy in this, minho needs to be wrapped in bubble wrap for his own safety, once again it's rlly not that graphic ok it's for the story it's for the MEME, this is. a mess, yes i'm writing ficlets based on skz incorrect quotes about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 17:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20915978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimnamjin/pseuds/chronosaurus
Summary: Leave it to Lee Minho to slice his goddamn hand open, feel his body subsequently turn to jelly, and then—if that’s not bad enough—take it upon himself to confess his undying crush on Jisung to Chan. In rapid succession.Lee Minho is a grade A dumbass. A dumbass with a bloody hand that hurts likeHell.Although, his embarrassmentmightbe a tad more painful. More than a tad, actually.





	Blood, sweat and tears (But mostly blood. And embarrassment)

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: make minho a suit of bubble wrap pls and thanks
> 
> [this!](https://www.instagram.com/p/B3HwrBuoN6U/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link) is the incorrect quotes post that inspired this ficlet! The specific quote is slide #5! 
> 
> enjoy!

Lee Minho is a grade A dumbass. 

How has he made it this far in life? He doesn't fucking know! 

How he hasn’t stumbled into an open manhole or tripped off a goddamn _bridge_ by now is beyond him! There’s clumsy, and then there’s _Lee Minho clum_sy. 

Lee Minho clumsy, which his current predicament happens to be a perfect example of. 

He was just going about his business, chopping some green onions for the dish he was about to whip up for lunch, and then _ouch! The “blinding pain express”_ pulled into the station. 

He looked down after the agony blurring his vision cleared, only to be met with a veritable _fountain_ of red. 

Minho _sliced his goddamn hand open._ Instead of expertly cutting green onion into manageable shreds, he cut himself! Right at the fleshy junction of his thumb and pointer finger! 

You know, for someone with so much grace while dancing, Minho _sure_ as Hell lacks any and all tack while going through the mundane day to day. 

This is a new low, even for Minho. Which is saying something. 

Once he got so hopelessly entangled in his blankets that he needed Woojin’s help to safely extract himself from his duvet-cocoon without snapping a leg in half. That was absolutely mortifiying—the fact that Minho doesn't sleep in underwear didn’t help. 

But his hand actually _hurts_. Like a lot. It’s stinging and venomous, and his skin feels like it was doused in acid. 

Yikes. That cut must be deeper than he thought. 

“M-Minho?! Is everything ok, I heard you screa—oh my god!” 

It’s Chan, the_ “mama bird trapped in the body of a hunky Australian” _he is. He came bursting out of his room, wild-eyed and plump lips hanging open in horror at the sight before him. 

Minho forgot he was home. Hell, Minho didn’t even _realize_ he shrieked! He must have been too ensnared in his pain induced haze. The blood gushing out of his hand is starting to make his vision sway, starting to make his stomach churn and flip upside down. 

Minho _hates_ blood. In fact, his fear of blood is on par with his well-known aversion to heights. Why is he such a fucking clumsy idiot with no sense of self-preservation? Why did his stupid hand have to wobble while he was chopping? Why did he make the mistake of _trusting_ himself with a fucking _knife_?! He’ll never know. 

“C-Chan, I don’t feel good.” Minho grumbled, stumbling away from the blood-splattered kitchen knife to shove his wounded hand right into Chan’s horrified eyes. 

“Holy shit, Minho! What happened?!” Chan cried, and if his skin was its normal pale shade before, any and all color has officially seeped from his pores; leaving his flesh spotless alabaster. 

“I w-was cutting...onions...and then I...cut me?” Minho muttered, willing himself not to look at the blood spilling from his hand. 

Chan, while appropriately worried, didn’t seem the least bit surprised. Minho was a tad bit offended.

“You’re losing a lot of blood, we gotta get you to a hospital!” 

_Yeah, no shit Sherlock. I don’t think I’m just gonna sleep this one off._ Minho thought to himself with a petulant grumble. He nodded in agreement nonetheless, to Chan’s relief. 

“Before we go, what’s your type?” Chan asked as he strode forward to coralle Minho into his arms, ushering the dazed boy towards the front door. The dancer looks trapped between wanting to retch the contents of his stomach and wanting to pass out. If it's the former, Chan just hopes it won't land square on his chest; he _really_ likes the black hoodie he's wearing today. 

“Cute, good at rapping, cheerfully annoying, has eyes that shine like stars, looks like a squirrel.” 

Chan stopped dead in his tracks, his hand freezing from where it was reaching for their house keys. 

“W-wha—I meant blood type! And didn’t you just describe Jisung?” 

Did Minho just do that? 

Whoops. Blame it on the blood loss? 

_Always_ blame accidentally admitting your crush on Jisung on your blood loss—at least if you’re Lee Minho, clumsy mess extraordinaire. 

“O-oh, sorry. My blood type is,” Minho’s eyes feel so heavy. “It’s, uh,” 

He unconsciously stole a quick glance at his bloodied hand. The blood is still seeping through the slice in his flesh, thick and rich burgundy. He felt his stomach quiver. His eyes began to flutter, his knees buckled. 

It’s a good thing Chan is still firmly stood before him; Minho’s poor brain couldn’t take the sight of his blood anymore. 

His body went slack, and he passed out right into Chan’s waiting arms. 

The Australian instantly wrapped his muscular arms around Minho’s waist, keeping him stood steady and not a crumpled heap on the ground. And then, he rolled his eyes. 

“Really, Minho? It’s a good thing I have the hospital on speed dial.” Chan grumbled, hoisting Minho into his arms as he threw the front door open. He pressed the dancer flush to his chest, safe and sound. 

“And Jisung, huh. I’ll make sure he’ll come visit you after your hand gets sewed up, dummy.” Chan whispered to Minho, despite the younger boy being blissfully unaware. There’s a knowing, sly smile upturning Chan’s lips that ignited sparks of mischief in his eyes. Probably not the best time, given Minho’s gaping wound, but Chan’s never been the best with the concept of urgency. 

And if Minho’s lips twitched up into a barely perceptible smile in his unconsciousness, Chan didn’t seem to notice. 

**Author's Note:**

> honestly? this was fucking terrible i'm so sorry u read this (thank u tho i love u)
> 
> if u did happen to enjoy this, please let me know!
> 
> thank you for reading ❤️ minho is fine, and i'm sure jisung brought him a big bouquet of flowers at the hospital. ah, young love


End file.
